Clandestine Nights
by Ally Ashes
Summary: One night, then another. Ryô Saeba hadn't expected it, not from Kaori. She had hypnotized him, and now he was begging for more.


_Dear reader, english is not my native language, and unfortunately I have no english speaking beta-reader that would both know the manga and be able to proofread it. So if someone has his/her eyes burnt by some grammar mistake and is ready to help the poor writer that I am, I would be forever in your debt. _

_Ally Ashes_

* * *

The first time had been pure chance. The combination of a hot summer night, of a craving for a last cigarette before sleep that had led him to the roof, and a fight between two men in the opposite building that had caught his attention. There he was, leaning on the railing just above Kaori's bedroom, ten meters from his usual smoking place.

If he had been ten meters away, if she hadn't opened the window of her room to fresh air of the night, if he hadn't needed to smoke, if the city traffic had been a little noisier, he wouldn't have heard anything.

But his ear had caught something, a moan, a complaint. He knew deep in his bones there was no immediate danger, and guessed that it was one of these nights where dreams became so close to reality that they turned into nightmares. They were both plagued by them, but never talked about it, reluctant to show their weaknesses.

He threw his cigarette and went down the stairs that led to her bedroom without knowing why. Perhaps to reassure her by his presence, perhaps to share her pain. Surely not to wake her: he knew he would never found the words to ease her mind.

He turned the handle in silence, the door ajar, and found her in bed, breathing fast, squirming under the sheets. He'd remained there for a moment, anxious. And then the young woman had kicked the fabric that bothered her movements, and the world had frozen.

Thinking back, he was certain his face had had the most besotted expression ever the moment he had understood it was not a nightmare. And the next moment his hand had grabbed the doorjamb.

Before him, barely lit by the moon, was the most captivating, the most shameless, the most poetic scene that a man had been given to see.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, one of her hands clutching the bed and the other hidden between her legs. Her body was concealed by a nightgown, but his imagination completed what he wasn't able to see. Her rapid breathing led his eyes to her chest, to her back that arched rhythmically, more and more quickly, responding to the rhythm of her fingers. He could only invent what was happening between those thighs that masked everything, and he succeeded too well for his own good.

It was hypnotic. He should have turned away, he should have left and respect her privacy. Yet he stood there, his hand clenched to the doorjamb, daring no move that could alert her of his presence. Daring no move that could lead to the urge of giving in to his own impulses.

Suddenly she threw her head back, her back arched on last time, mouth open in a silent scream. Then her legs fell, and her hand went up to lay innocently on her belly.

Ryo threw himself on the side, back against the wall, praying she hadn't heard him move. Her breathing slowed down, which reassured him: she must have fallen asleep.

He went to his room as quietly as possible, still in shock. Lying on his bed, he couldn't rest, his mind assaulted by flashes that kept coming and boiled his blood, flashes that he couldn't stop from entering his mind despite him.

She was a woman. She was an adult. She was made of flesh, blood, desires. These concepts were easy to apprehend. So how, not once, not one little time during those years, hadn't he thought of the possibility that such scenes had been unfolding in her room, so close to his ?

_"To protect yourself, idiot."_ The thought crossed his mind and he let out a bitter laugh. Yes, to protect himself, to continue on the path he had set shortly after the beginning of their partnership. He still remembered the day he had told her he wouldn't think of her as a woman anymore. That she would have to dress with practical clothes and forget about aesthetic. It had worked. The day before his _mokkori_ had awakened before her. On the bike, just when he pronounced his words, he had stood proudly erected, feeling the warmth of this young woman.

And the next day he had resisted. And the days, months, years after that. Sometimes there had been "accidents" but he'd always managed to get out with a twist from those dangerous situations.

Would he be able to do it again, now that he knew that only a few meters away such beautiful scenes would happen again?

He tortured himself until morning, slipping into sleep to get out as quickly, his insatiable excitement burning his body. The remedy was simple, but he refused to comply to this natural urge. A chaste behavior utterly incompatible with his reputation, that he could only explain by the fact that it would have been like belittling that scene to the level of his porn magazines...

For once he got up first, just to avoid their morning routine of her wake him up, and rushed into the shower, gradually lowering the temperature until the cold had it's effect on his lower parts.

He waited to hear noises in the kitchen and managed to enter the room only when he'd been sure that she would turn her back to him.

And there she was. Exactly like other mornings, filling the coffee maker. Identical yet completely different.

He was granted a moment to detail from head to foot, stopping at length on his hands, on this hand he had surprise. On that hand he would like to follow.

No no no. Shaking his head he forced himself to regain control of himself. He knew he could do it.

And he succeeded. All day, except on a few times when a movement of her head or a sigh brought him back in time to a few hours earlier. He succeeded to find the usual dynamic of their duo, made of provocations and pardons, trust and fights, tenderness and fears. She was still Kaori, aka the little sister of Hideyuki, aka the girl nicknamed Sugar Boy, aka half of City Hunter.

But when darkness came and she wished him goodnight, Ryô's thoughts started to have a will of their own. Would it happen again tonight? No, not possible. It was only a chance encounter, once, an experience that should not be repeated.

So why wasn't he asleep in his bed? Why was he at her door, heart pounding as if he was in the battlefield? Why did he turn around every time he made the decision to go to bed? Why was he torn between the desire to see this scene again, and the desire to found her asleep, her hands under her cheek like a child?

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door. He knew the answer. Precisely because whatever he would think or do Kaori was no longer a kid, and hadn't been since a long time. And either he managed to go on with it, or he would eventually give in and make her his partner in every meaning of the word.

He could have stayed there longer. Maybe he would have left if he hadn't heard that sound, the same complaint that had attracted him yesterday. A siren song, which he gave in to, which made him open the door once again.

She wore the same white nightgown, and the moon again lighted her body. He would engrave this night in his memory, of that he was sure. He watched her movements, the muscles of her thighs and calves contracting slightly, her hand still concealed from his eyes. Her breath was following her movements, accelerating, stopping, resuming. His eye followed the muscles of her arm to her shoulder, her neck, her chest where her other hand clutched her breast. He felt drunk under the effect of her gestures, and his body replied once again.

_\- Ryô._

She had sighed his name. He feared for a moment that he had been discovered, but her eyes were closed. She was touching herself while thinking of him. He swallowed hard: he knew that she loved him, but hearing her moaning his name was devastating. It was like a tornado that was destructing all the walls that he'd spent so many years to build.

Unconsciously he stepped forward, crossing the threshold. Hadn't he been a voyeur, a clandestine, he would have invited himself to this dance. He would have given anything to join her, his forbidden fruit, his untouchable partner.

His attention was focused on her, her body, her mouth. Her eyes... Oh god.

She was watching him, breathless. She was looking at him and yet she was making no move to cover herself. She should have thrown him one of her weapons, thrown him something. She should have screamed at him in anger, but she remained calm and silent. She was laying still, both hesitant and determined, and he couldn't decipher if the color of her cheeks was due to her excitement or her shyness. Then her lips formed a single word. His name.

He let himself be carried away by the tornado, right into her arms.

The first time he'd watched her, she had not felt his presence, lost in her ecstasy. It was only when she had regained her breath and had turned to the side that she had seen her door was open, although she was certain it was closed a few minutes before... She immediately understood what had happened, and had almost died of shame.

She had tossed and turned most of the night, and then had finally told herself that with all the pornographic magazines or visions of the _mokkori_ that she had to endure since day one, he would be in no position to say anything.

And he'd said nothing. Or rather he had not told her anything, for his eyes and his reactions had spoken for him.

While entering his room that night, she was prepared to put aside all shame if he ever came back. She was thinking of his hands, his body when she had perceived his presence. She had prayed that he would open that door. And at the same time she had prayed that he wouldn't. And finally she had let their fate be decided by surrendering.

And now, watching his lover asleep, she promised herself that no door would ever separate them again.


End file.
